


i only wrote this down to make you press rewind

by lacecat



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Gay Lawyer Drama, M/M, Multi, POV Multiple, Recreational Drug Use, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn, Suits AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2018-12-31 01:32:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12121635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacecat/pseuds/lacecat
Summary: In a series of events, John Silver becomes a law associate under James Flint, who's known as the best closer in the city, at the firm Barlow, Hamilton & Associates.The only problem? Silver's never been to law school a day in his life.(suits au)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> the suits au that had to be done (100% gayer)
> 
> im blaming hailey for being an amazing enabler

•••

 

Thomas checks his watch, then the clock opposite him on the wall. He stares at it for a moment, then back down to his watch, when someone calls his name.

 

“Mr. Hamilton?” the secretary asks, and he picks up his briefcase with a nod and a smile for her. 

 

The office is a sleek, modern creation- the walls are floor to ceiling glass, dark wood paneling inside. Thomas sees at least two decanters furnishing the far part of the room - filled with water and whiskey, by the looks of it. It's all tasteful, and he takes a moment to appreciate the sight as he walks in. 

 

“Mr. Hamilton.” The partner stands up from behind her desk, greeting him with a stern expression. 

 

“Good afternoon, Ms. Barlow. Did you know that your clock out there is forty-three seconds ahead?” Thomas asks, shutting the door behind him.

 

“I appreciate your eye for details,” Miranda says, and she reaches out her hand. “Thank you for coming in.”

 

“Thank you for seeing me,” Thomas says, and he shakes her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet with you today.”

 

“Please, take a seat,” Miranda says, gesturing. “Now, your resume here - you graduated from Harvard in 2005?”

 

“That’s right,” Thomas confirms. “I was the top of my class.”

 

“What do you think you’ll bring to this firm?” Miranda asks, as direct and firm as she’s known for. “To be honest, Mr. Hamilton, some of my colleagues have raised their concerns about the lack of experience you have in litigation.”

 

“To be fair, Ms. Barlow, what I lack in age-related experience, I by far make up for in it in the quality of my casework so far,” Thomas says, and he keeps his face straight. “I’ve heard that Barlow & Associates look beyond one's age in order to get the best of the best, and I am that.”

 

Miranda quirks the corner of her mouth, then, and that’s when Thomas laughs. “Well, then, you’re hired,” Miranda says, and Thomas makes a gleeful sound. “Welcome to the newly named Barlow, Hamilton & Associates.”

 

“I’ve made that promotion so quickly,” Thomas muses, leaning back in his chair. “So far in such a small amount of time. Did I sleep with you to get my title?”

  
  
“You wish,” Miranda says, passing him the file. “You just have to sign these, and our board will be happy. Was traffic light the way here?”

 

“Absolutely horrendous,” Thomas tells her as he signs with a flourish. “I thought I was going to be late, but luckily, my driver knew a shortcut.”

 

“I miss London,” Miranda says, somewhat wistfully as she takes back the papers. “Why didn’t we open this place there?”

 

“You like New York too much,” Thomas says. “This feels - so much better, the two of us running this place, doing what we want to do.”

 

“Because you could have shown up late and still gotten the job?”

 

“I mean, my father isn’t haunting every corner, we have _corner offices_ \- Miranda, I feel like we’ve made it.”

 

“I’ll rest easier when we get more clients,” Miranda says, taking the papers back. “Did you convince Philpott to follow you?”

 

“Of course. Alfred was furious,” Thomas says. “You know, this might be the best interview I’ve done.”

 

“Thank goodness your interview has known you for so long,” Miranda says. “God, I was interviewing for new associates this morning, and they’re so-”

 

“Dull?” Thomas supplies.

 

“ _Boring_ ,” Miranda says. “Were we like that, you think?”

 

“Dear, we’re not much older than them now,” Thomas says. “So, what’s the first order of business?”

 

“Well, that new associate of your father’s is coming by to drop off some paperwork. I think Alfred might be trying to sue us for breach of contract. Then, I want to talk to you about a new hire.”

 

“For the lawsuit, he’s got no real ground,” Thomas reasons, and she nods in agreement. “Are we meeting with him?”

  
  
“The associate? Yes, he should be here now.”

 

“It’s almost as though you knew this interview was going to go well.”

 

“I had my suspicions.” Miranda rises, and he gets up as well. “Not to mention, I’m a busy woman.”

 

“That you are,” Thomas says, holding the door open for her. “By the way, what’s with the clock?”

 

“Oh, it’s a test I’m thinking about keeping,” Miranda says. “Whether they bring it up or notice it at all, I think, is very telling.”

 

“Did I pass?” Thomas teases, and Miranda shoots him a fond, sideways look as they walk out into the waiting room.

 

“Mr. Flint?” Miranda asks, and a man across the room rises.

  
  
“Ms. Barlow. Mr. Hamilton,” he greets, and Miranda can feel when Thomas stops beside her. “I have the notice that Mr. Hamilton - senior - requested that I deliver.”

 

“Thank you for coming all this way,” Miranda says, accepting the folder. “I apologize that you have to work for Alfred Hamilton, actually.”

  
“ _Miranda_ ,” Thomas says, but then he turns to the man. “She’s right, though.”

 

Miranda watches as the corner of the man’s mouth quirks for a moment, before he tamps down the expression. “What’s your name?” Thomas asks then. 

 

“James Flint,” the man says, and after a moment, he reaches out to shake Miranda’s hand, then Thomas’s. His grip is firm, palm warm and dry. “I should be going. But before I do - it’s an honor to meet the two of you. I admire the reputation and integrity that you’ve built- that I’ve heard about.”

 

“Thank you,” Thomas says, watching as Flint leans down to pick up his briefcase once again. At the same time, Miranda watches Thomas out of the corner of her eye. “Mr. Flint?”

 

“Yes?” the man asks, turning around.

 

“Why were you on the chair?” At the look on Flint’s face, Thomas adds, “Before we came in. It still had the indents from your shoes on it.”

  
Flint’s face colors remarkably quickly, as both Thomas and Miranda watch in fascination. “Forgive me- your clock, it was about forty seconds off,” he says. “I just changed it.”

 

“Of course,” Miranda says, “Thank you very much.”

 

“Interesting,” Thomas says, not even bothering to hide the look on his face, one that makes Miranda snort right there, quiet enough that only Thomas hears. 

 

“I’m - good day,” Flint says hurriedly, and then he’s walking out of the lobby in long strides. Miranda sees his head turn ever so slightly before he rounds the corner, the flush that’s on the back of his neck now a bright pink. 

 

Thomas continues to stare after him, even when Miranda elbows him lightly. “What?”

 

“He," Miranda says, "Is the new hire I wanted to talk to you about."

 

  
“You want to poach him from Alfred?”

 

“I do. He did excellent work in the DA’s office before - oh honestly, he’s _gone_ now-”

 

“What?” Thomas turns to look at her. “What was that?”

 

“If you sleep with him, I’m not going to be able to hire him,” Miranda threatens. “ _Don’t,_ Thomas.”

 

“I’m not going to risk a valuable asset to this firm in that way,” Thomas reasons. “Honestly, Miranda, who do you think I am- all right, stop looking at me like that - don’t we have a firm to be running?”

 

 

  
•••

TWO YEARS LATER

 

Flint gets to the office at precisely 8:30 in the morning, every morning. He reaches the elevator - already nearly full - and he hits the button for his floor, ignoring how the whispering from the other occupants stops once he boards, and they see who he was.

 

Flint stares at the mirrored wall in front of him. He can see the woman behind him lean over as if to whisper in the ear of the man next to her- then she stops, when Flint makes direct eye contact with her in the reflection, and they both look down as Flint continues to glare.  

 

Before the elevator doors can fully close, though, a briefcase slides through the crack, stopping them in progress. “Pardon me,” Thomas says, stepping neatly in as the doors slide back open. “Good morning, James.”

 

“Thomas,” Flint says with a dip of his head. “How is the Hallandale case coming along?”

 

“Excellent, I’m just going in just now to interview one of the witnesses right now,” Thomas says, and he straightens his tie. “I could use a fresh set of eyes on my opening for tomorrow.”

 

“I’ve got an out of office meeting at three, but I should be back by six,” Flint says, and it’s Thomas’s turn to nod as the elevator door opens to their floor

 

“Excellent. Until then,” he says, and when they both leave the elevator, Thomas heads to his office, and Flint to his.

 

“Anything?” Flint asks Eleanor, stopping outside of his office. She’s busy typing away on her computer but glances up briefly at his approach.

 

“You have the interviews today,” Eleanor says, reaching up with one hand to hand him a folder, and Flint’s face twitches. “Miranda wants to see you in her office, and I have the briefs that Hornigold sent over to be proofed.”

 

“Give the briefs to that short one or the mustached one, I don’t care which,” Flint says, checking his phone with his spare hand. “What interviews?”

 

“For the new associate,” Miranda’s voice says, as she walks up behind him with a click of her heels, and Eleanor nods in her direction as Flint turns. “Today and tomorrow, you will be heading the search.”

 

“ _Two days_ ,” Flint says, feeling rather heavy already. “I have much more important work-”

 

“Eleanor, clear Mr. Flint’s schedule here. Assign the meeting to Hal, the casework to Anne,” Miranda tells her, without looking away from him. “Thank you for being flexible in this regard, James.”

 

“Of course,” Flint grits out, and Miranda actually smiles sweetly at him before she turns to go back to her office. “Was she just waiting for me to show up?”

 

“It’s because otherwise, you would have avoided her for the rest of the day, boss,” Eleanor says, and she holds up a post-it. “Message from Mr. Hamilton that his assistant just sent me.”

 

Flint reads it, puts the note in his pocket. “I’ll be working late, can you arrange-”

 

“I’ve already booked a sushi delivery for seven tonight,” Eleanor says. “Dooley will be out front in ten minutes.”

   
“You’re my favorite,” Flint tells her, tucking the folder under his arm, and she waves him off.

 

  
•••

 

High in the corner of the test room, the clock keeps on ticking, every fifth one just a little louder. Silver squints up at it, trying to decide if the hand is actually slowing down, or if he’s hallucinating, as he taps his pen on the desk. 

 

He snaps back into focus just as the proctor says, “Time’s up.”

 

“Damn it,” Silver hears the girl next to him say. “Damn it, _fuck_ -”

 

He scoops his paper, walking to the front, and tries not to have too much swing to his step. Before he gets to the table, he adjusts his hat, pulls it down a little lower onto his face.

 

“Do I know you?” the proctor asks as Silver passes him his exam.

 

“Uh- I don’t think so,” Silver says. “I’m pretty good with faces.”

 

“All right,” the proctor says, still sounding suspicious, so Silver waits until he’s accepting another exam so that he switches his to the bottom of the same pile. He tugs his baseball cap down, even more, slipping through the crowd until he’s out of the testing room.

 

Outside, Silver nears a group of students moaning about the test. “I think it got harder,” he hears one of them say. “That one part-”

 

  
“Chad, it has to be hard, it’s the LSAT-”

 

This, Silver can’t resist, as he steps to the side right next to them. “Now, come on, guys, you know you’re not supposed to discuss the test results right outside of the room,” he says, faking a look of sternness. “It’s only fair to honor those rules.”

 

The group pushes by him in response, some of them shooting him dirty looks, and Silver waits until they’re far enough away to let the grin on his expression.

 

Within five minutes, he’s knocking on a dorm room door, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt.

 

“Did you do it?” Dobbs asks as soon as he opens the door.

 

“Hello to you too,” Silver says, and turns his head a bit to look at the textbook under Dobb’s arms. “Doing your maths, are you now?”

 

“Is it done?” Dobbs asks again.

  
  
“It’s done,” Silver replies, accepting the money that Dobbs hands him. “I got you that 162. Now, try not to get in some _really_ important field of law, all right? I’d hate to have you flub up someone’s life entirely, it’d wrack me with guilt.”

  
  
“Like you have a fucking conscience,” Dobbs snaps, slamming the door on Silver’s face. Silver pockets the money, and he walks away with a whistle.

 

Even though the clouds visible above his head are starting to darken ominously, he isn’t going to use any of his hard-earned cash for a taxi to the nursing home. Silver unlocks his bike from outside the dorm building and starts to pedal off, hoping that at least he’ll get there before the storm starts.

 

  
•••

 

“Thank you for coming in,” Flint says, hiding his grimace behind a yawn as the fresh-faced lawyer gets up to exit the room. “Eleanor?”

 

Eleanor appears at the door holding coffee, and Flint cranes his neck to look behind her, at the waiting room that still appears to be full of people.  “How many to go?”

 

“It’s still day one,” Eleanor says, and he accepts the cup from her. “Buckle up, you’ve got more to go, boss.”

  
  
“Can I throw myself out this window?” Flint asks, taking a heavy swig of the coffee.

 

“There’s a heavy screen there to prevent you from doing exactly that,” his assistant says smartly in reply. “This next one coming in is a nightmare, by the way.” When Flint lets his head drop into his hands, Eleanor pats him on the shoulder before leaving to go back to her desk out front.

 

The door opens, and Flint straightens up, setting down the cup. “Thank you for coming in,” he says, already reciting the script Miranda had given him once again, and the man stammers in reply.

 

He’s starting to get a headache. When this one leaves, Flint sends Miranda a quick text message.

 

_Drinks tonight?_

 

The reply is quick. _That bad?_

 

 _Disastrous,_ Flint types out but doesn’t send it. He sets his phone down, just as the door opens again.

 

 

•••

 

Eleanor waits in front of the elevator, adjusting her shirt as she does so. She had just run Flint’s sushi order up, but in the meantime, had managed to get soy sauce all over the hem of her blouse. Luckily, she was done with work for the day - or as much as she could do, knowing Flint’s chaotic schedule - and so she had grabbed her coat, said goodbye to the few people who remained, and had gone to the elevator.

 

The doors ding, and when they slide open, Eleanor first sees the dark jacket of the sole occupant inside. “You,” Anne Bonny says curtly, stepping aside in the space to let her in as if Eleanor was holding a gun to her head.

 

“Hello, Anne,” Eleanor says in return, and she steps in. She punches the button for the lobby floor with a little more heat than necessary. But that’s what she gets, for boarding an elevator with her ex-girlfriend’s new girlfriend.

 

She can feel Anne look at her, but Eleanor refuses to make eye contact with the associate, as petty as it is. She’s already covered in sauce, so the universe must have decided, _how else can we make this terrible_?

 

“How’s the ginger nightmare, then?” Anne says, and that makes Eleanor shoots a dark look at her.

 

“Don’t call him that.”

 

  
“I heard he made a paralegal cry this morning."

 

Eleanor scoffs. “I heard _you_ fired someone’s assistant because they didn’t hold the door for you.”

“Fake fired them. Keeps everyone on their toes,” Anne bites back, and they both stare at the numbers counting down for a moment. Anne starts hitting her foot against the wall underneath the panel, and the noise is enough to drive Eleanor just a little too crazy in about five seconds. 

 

“How’s Max, then?” Eleanor asks, turning to look at her. After all, she knows exactly where to prod. Anne’s shoulders hunch a bit, and she stops kicking as Eleanor continues, “Is she enjoying that new job she’s got? Even with that fast transition?”

 

“It’s better,” Anne grits out, staring at the mirrored wall like she could melt it under her eyes. “She likes it more than the old one. This one actually cares about her, you know.”

 

“I heard she’s lost some perks now.”

 

“Yeah, well, now she’s got someone who listens to her.”

 

“Oh my god,” Eleanor snaps, “Would you stop?”

  
  
“Who the fuck makes _Max_ cry?” Anne demands, turning to face her now. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

 

“You don't like me because you don’t understand her, and you never will,” Eleanor says, and it’s a low blow that makes Anne take a step towards her. “Oh, what, are you going to threaten me now? You’ve already taken her, so why not take a shove at me?”

 

“You,” Anne says, getting close to her "You should shut your mouth."

 

Eleanor tilts her chin up defiantly, not one to stand down.  “Yeah, well, your girlfriend liked my mouth at one point,” she snaps, and she can see Anne’s eyes flash from this close.

 

"You're a piece of work," Anne says, low and dangerous, and Eleanor feels something underneath her skin tug, as Anne's clenched fist brushes against her thigh from where she's cornered her against the side of the elevator.  

 

Then, inexplicably, Anne’s eyes drop down - and Eleanor can feel her breathing hitch because she couldn’t be- she  _wouldn't-_

 

The doors open with a ping and the noise is enough so that Anne turns her head to side violently. She storms out, then, her shoes making heavy sounds against the marble floor.

 

Eleanor watches her go, feeling as though she had just made up this moment. But as the doors stay open, she slowly reaches over and presses the close-door button once again. 

 

She needs to change out of this shirt, and then, she needs a stiff drink.

 

 

•••

 

 

“Damn it, Muldoon,” Silver says, opening the oven and stopping. “Stop storing weed in here!”

 

“What, are you going to cook or something?” Muldoon asks from the couch. “If so, I’d like something from that Julia Child book you have over there.”

  
“There’s no way I’m going to disrespect French cooking by using that monstrosity,” Silver tells him, eyeing the dozens of plastic bags of weed stacked in there. “Why the fuck do you have so much in here, anyway?”

 

“There’s a drop-off tonight,” Muldoon says, turning to look at him with big eyes. “Hands said he wanted me to put together as much as I could and keep it here.”

 

 

“So you filled the oven with it?” At Muldoon’s nod, Silver pinches the bridge of his nose. “Great. I’m guessing that was his idea, too.”

 

“How was Randall?” Muldoon asks instead, as Silver kicks the oven door closed again with a clang. “Doing all right?”

 

“We played checkers,” Silver says, opening the fridge for a beer instead. “I asked him about my family inheritance, and he handed me a check, and then he told me he was proud of me.”

 

“Huh,” Muldoon says. “Really?”

 

“Well, we did play checkers,” Silver says, pushing an old carton of Chinese food aside to grab two bottles out of the fridge. “Beer?”

 

“Thanks,” Muldoon says, accepting the bottle from him. “Joint?”

 

“Of course,” Silver says, plopping down next to him and taking a deep drag. “How was your day today?”

 

“Sold some to those college kids down the block, visited my mom,” Muldoon says. “Why, what about you?”

 

“Thinking about the second part of Hilbert's sixteenth problem,” Silver says. “Have you ever wanted to go to Paris?”

 

  
“Nah, that’d be nice though,” Muldoon says wistfully. “I could learn French. We could see the Eiffel Tower. Hands could pay for our tickets.”

 

“C’est chouette,” Silver says, taking another puff. “Where is that miserable bastard?” he asks, peering around the back of the couch. “I would’ve thought since the sun is down, he can emerge from his crypt now.”

 

“And you wonder why he hates you so much,” Muldoon says, taking the joint back. “He had some sort of meeting. Was wondering where you were, actually.”

 

“I was taking the test for some kid,” Silver says distantly, but then he looks at Muldoon sharply. “Wait, what?”

 

“Yeah, he went into your room for a bit,” Muldoon says, and Silver freezes with his mouth still on the rim of his bottle. “Said you owed him something?”

 

“No,” Silver says, and he feels a cold sweat break out. “Muldoon, _tell me_ you didn’t let him into my room.”

 

“He was really awful about it,” Muldoon says in a quiet voice, and Silver jumps off the couch, pushing open his door with a low curse.

 

Nothing looks disturbed, at first, but when he actually looks, he can see how the mattress has been shifted slightly. Silver knows what he’s going to see before he even crosses the room - the money he had stashed under there, in neat plastic bags, nearly ten grand - all gone.

 

He’s not thinking about math anymore. Instead, Silver grips onto the bed frame, sees his knuckles go white, thinks about how exactly he’s going to pay for the nursing home now.

 

“Oh, I am going to kill him,” Silver mutters, clenching his fists. “I am going to _kill_ him-”

 

  
•••

 

 

“I don’t get why we need another associate,” Flint says darkly into his martini later that night. “Why can’t we just make the paralegals do it?”

“For a wide variety of legal, ethical, and moral decisions,” Miranda says, stirring her drink and tapping it on the edge. “That, and I like it when you look frustrated.”

 

“This is by far the shittiest part of my job,” Flint tells her. “And I have to run depositions for sleazy Wall Street types and try to make them look both honest _and_ likable.”

 

“You are very talented,” Miranda says, hiding her smirk behind the rim of her glass, even though he can see right through. They’re in one of her favorite bars - a little loud for Flint’s tastes, but the martinis are excellent. Plus, he’s caught the eye of one of the waiters, who’s got tattoos rippling down his arms and the sort of muscular hands that makes Flint want to take another sip of his drink. “When you get the Walrus merger done away with, then I’ll even say it in front of Billy for you.”

 

“Yeah, well, that’s what they call me,” Flint says. “Most talented closer in the city, is it?”

 

“Don’t let it get to your head,” Miranda says, clinking their glasses together, just as the waiter comes back to their table.

 

“Celebrating tonight?” he asks, looking right at Flint.  

 

“He’s about to win an _incredibly_ high-profile case,” Miranda says, and Flint turns to look at the waiter appraisingly. “He’s very good at his job, even if he’s an awful mentor.”

 

“Is that so?” the waiter asks, and his gaze dips down to where Flint had loosened his tie slightly.

 

“I am _very_ good,” Flint agrees. “Is that another martini for me?”

 

“Yes, extra dirty,” the waiter says, setting it down. “On the house.”

 

“Excellent,” Flint says, and he winks at the waiter.

 

“Honestly,” Miranda says, watching Flint as he watches the waiter walk away. “When are you going to settle down with some nice young man?”

 

“When the wrinkles on my forehead start getting too deep for waiters to stop giving me their numbers,” Flint says, holding up the napkin with handwriting scrawled on it. "What do you think?" 

 

Miranda sighs. “I’m going to leave you to your fun,” she says. “Are you heading back to the office tonight?”

 

“Just to pick up some files,” Flint says. “Say hello to your girlfriend for me, won’t you?”

 

“She’s not my _girlfriend_ , first of all,” Miranda says, draining her glass, and she ignores the raised eyebrow that Flint gives her. “Be in early tomorrow, I want those interviews done with.”

 

“I will be the model of productivity,” Flint says.

  
  
“Please, like you’re not going to be taking that one home,” Miranda says, tilting her head back to the waiter, who’s still watching Flint from where he’s leaning beside the bar. “Just make sure he’s not married, all right?”

 

  
“Goodnight, Miranda,” Flint says, and he waits until she’s left the bar to shred the napkin with the number on it. He finishes his martini, and then he sends a quick text for Dooley to come pick him up.

 

  
•••

 

At night, the office is lit up with golden light, the blinds on all the windows half way down. The hallways are empty, too, and as Flint approaches the offices, he can see that the lights in Thomas’s are still on. Through the glass, he pauses for a moment to watch the man typing at something behind his laptop, rubbing his eyes ever so often.

 

Flint picks up the still-cool paper bag on Eleanor’s abandoned desk, taking a sniff inside. He knocks at the door, and when Thomas glances up, he holds up the bag. “The sushi’s still good if you’ve forgotten to eat again.”

 

“Oh, that’s what it was,” Thomas says, pushing back his chair. “I assumed that it was the hearts of the men who crossed Eleanor.”

 

“Well, Vane’s still alive as far as I can tell, so, unfortunately, it must be delicious fish,” Flint says, and he crosses the room to set the bag down on Thomas’s desk. “I'm sorry I’m late. How’s the case going?”

 

“Terribly long and dense,” Thomas says, as he rummages through it curiously. “I think I’m getting too old for late nights.”

  
“Now, come on, we both know you love nothing more than a thick piece of litigation to sink your teeth in,” Flint says teasingly, passing him one of the trays. “Soy sauce?”

 

“Yes please,” Thomas says, catching a packet and tossing his tie over his shoulder to avoid getting it into the tray. “How were drinks with Miranda?”

 

“She assigned me to interviews today,” Flint says, opening another tray of sashimi. “They’re a nightmare- why do we need an associate, again?”

 

“You need an associate if you want to make partner,” Thomas points out. “Don’t you like the sound of Barlow, Hamilton, Flint & Associates?”

 

“It’s rather long,” Flint says. “We went to that bar you both are so fond of.”

 

“Oh, the bartenders there are rather attractive, aren’t they?” Thomas says. “Good pick.”

 

“Thank you. I’m sure the night we shared was very energetic and sweaty,” Flint muses, and he feels his chest flutter when Thomas laughs, rising from his desk and abandoning his sushi. Thomas glances out the glass that lines the side of his office, as does Flint, making sure they’re alone before he goes around the desk to lean right in front of Flint. 

 

“Is that so?” Thomas says teasingly, looking down at him with warm eyes. “Was it the one with all the tattoos?”

 

“I do have a type,” Flint admits, as Thomas leans forward and braces his hands on the chair arms to either side of him. “But then again, I’m really not sure why Golden-Boy-Hamilton does so much for me.”

 

“I’m a delinquent,” Thomas says, pressing a kiss to his chin. “I stole a gumball from a machine when I was six.”

 

“Oh, how  _dangerous,_ ” Flint says, tilting his face up as Thomas’s nose brushes against his. “Tell me more.”

 

  
“Darling, I missed you last night,” Thomas says instead, softly, and he presses a light kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I woke up in the middle of the night and was patting around the sheets like a madman until I remembered you weren’t there.”

 

“I’ll stay tonight,” Flint promises, lifting his hand to put it on the side of Thomas’s face and stroking his cheek. “I’m sorry.”

 

“No, don’t apologize,” Thomas says, pulling back. There’s a tinge of sadness to his smile. “We knew that it would have to be like this.”

 

They’ve had this conversation many times before, but each time, it twists at him a little more, seeing Thomas dim even the smallest amount. He wonders how he worked at the firm those first few months - before he knew what Thomas looked like in one of his old tee shirts, or how his hair goes haywire early in the morning - without knowing the intense sensation that even looking at Thomas gives him, like he emerged from a cave and looked at the sun for the first time.

 

  
“It doesn’t have to be,” Flint says, knocking his knee against Thomas’s, trying to lighten up the sudden mood. “I could go work at one of the other firms-”

  
  
“James,” Thomas interrupts gently. “You know I would never allow that. You work best here, you’re respected, and when you get to partner-” he stops. “I’m sorry we have to hide, my love.”

 

“For you, I’m willing to hide for a bit,” Flint says just as quietly, and he puts his hand over Thomas’s. “I’ll get there. We’ll tell Miranda, and it will work out.”

 

Thomas puts his other hand on top of Flint’s, stroking his wrist. “It will,” he says, and lifts Flint’s hand to kiss his knuckles. “Now, how about you tell me about the worst of those interviews today?”

  

•••

 

Hands opens the door at around one in the morning, and it’s only because he has nerves of steel that he doesn’t jump when Silver clears his throat from where he was sitting on the couch, waiting for him. Silver has yet to convince him into having an x-ray to confirm that, after all.

 

“What the fuck do you want?” Hands says gruffly, and Silver narrows his eyes at him.

 

“You took my fucking money,” he says, low enough so that Muldoon isn’t going to wake up. “I need that cash-”

 

“It was _our_ money to start,” Hands says, putting his keys down on the side table. “Or did you forget the time I lent you that payment?”

 

  
“I need to pay the home off this week,” Silver says, rising from the couch. “You had _no right_ -”

 

“I had every right!” Hands snaps. “Do you think those people I’m dealing with, they’re gonna feel bad about your poor old grandpa-”

 

“Fuck you,” Silver snarls, taking a step forward. “Give me back my money.”

 

“I don’t have it,” Hands tells him, and Silver’s hands curl into fists. “They needed a down payment on the product. Once I deliver this shit, then they’ll give me it back.”

 

“You-” Silver exhales, resisting the urge to push him into a wall. “Why didn’t you just give them the money tonight?”

 

“Because they had a cop planted there who would’ve recognized my face, and we couldn’t meet up,” Hands says. “Or would you like your money to end up in some lockup, then?”

 

“Then how do you expect to get the money back at all?” Silver bites back. “Unless-”

 

“Yeah,” Hands says. “It’s either you or the other one.”

 

“ _No_ ,” Silver says. “Muldoon will crack. And I’m certainly not going to deliver it for you.”

 

“It’s either you deliver it, or you lose your money,” Hands says. “Your choice.”

 

Silver grinds his teeth. “Where is the drop point?” he asks, and he tastes something bitter in his mouth when Hands cracks a grin.

 

 

•••

 

  
Flint wakes up the next morning in Thomas’s arms, which normally is his absolute preferred place in the entire world - but then the alarm goes off next to them where it's on the nightstand. He cracks open an eye, then, already irritated that he can’t drift back asleep in the soft embrace around him. 

 

Flint reaches over, blearily trying to slap at a button, but the alarm won’t cease. “Stop that,” he gets out, trying to turn it off-  until a longer arm reaches by him, deftly pressing a button at the top, and the chirping finally goes silent.

 

“Good morning,” Thomas says, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck, his voice roughened by sleep. “Are you trying to break yet another one of my alarm clocks?”

 

“Technology,” Flint says, rubbing a hand over his face. He needs to shave. “It’s terrible.”

 

“Mm, I don’t know,” Thomas says, pressing another lingering kiss to his bare shoulder. “Do we have to go to work today?”

 

Flint lets himself sag back, as Thomas’s hand wraps around his waist once again - but then his eyes open when he realizes that several minutes have passed. “I have to go back to my place,” he says, and Thomas’s fingers squeeze on his side for the briefest of moments before letting go.

 

“You could leave some of your suits here,” Thomas says, and Flint sighs as he sits up. “I doubt even the maid will notice.”

 

“It’s too risky,” he says, tugging on his shirt and trousers from last night. “It’s no bother, really, it’ll take me less than half an hour to get there and to the office.”

 

“Of course,” Thomas says, and he looks down for a moment - enough so that Flint’s can’t help but lean back across the bed, lift Thomas’s face to press a quick kiss to his mouth. “Try not to murder any of the prospective associates, all right?”

 

“I’ll see you later,” Flint promises, sees Thomas smile a little at that before he forces himself to let go of Thomas, and he walks out of the bedroom.

 

He gets a taxi to his apartment, and he spends the entire time staring out the window. He can still feel Thomas’s arms around him, and for a moment, he shivers at the lack of warmth.

 

•••

 

 

Silver bounces his leg the entire time he’s on the train. Thank God it’s the city so no one gives him a strange look, but still, he feels like he’s shifting underneath his skin, twisting and turning until something’s going to snap.

 

“The meeting’s at one of those fancy hotels downtown,” Hands had told him earlier. “You’re going to look for a man with a dark tattoo on the back of his hand, and you’ll exchange the cases.” He had even said it will be quick, although Silver is an _excellent_ read of people, and even Hands had looked slightly nervous as he had handed him the suitcase.

 

Silver’s leg still continues to bounce, and as he walks up the stairs to the street, he wonders what will happen if he’s arrested. Will Muldoon and Hands really take care of Randall? What about that estranged half-sister he has? Who would visit him in jail?

 

Before long, he’s in front of the elaborate hotel. The doorman gives him an odd look for just standing there, so he goes in, tries to look like he blends in with his polyester suit among this crowd of high-rollers. There are far more people in business wear than he would have guessed - so he slides to the side.

 

“Hey, what’s up with this crowd?” Silver asks the receptionist, who looks up from where he was typing away.

 

“Some sort of lawyer interview gathering,” he says, eyeing Silver’s skinny tie. “Are you- here for that”

 

“Oh, no, that's not me,” Silver says, and he slips away before the man can ask any more questions.

 

  
•••

 

“Why do you think you’ll be a good fit for the firm?” Flint asks, and he can see the man- if he was old enough to be called that, really - start to sweat from his pale forehead.

 

“Well, I, uh,” he begins to stammer, and Flint’s already counting down until it’s in the realm of polite to show him the door.

 

The next one is even worse - a cocky one, that has Flint’s hackles raising before he even fully saunters through the doorway.

 

“My father worked for Alfred Hamilton’s firm,” he begins, and Flint’s mentally wondering if he could pry open one of the screens with his pen before Eleanor could notice.

 

Once this one is gone, Flint goes to the doorway. “How many?” he asks, and Eleanor shoots him a pointed look.

 

“Go back and take some notes,” she tells him, and Flint sighs heavily before going back into the room.

 

He’s not going to find a suitable candidate, and Miranda’s going to  _murder_ him.

 

 

•••

 

Silver breathes heavily as he dashes down the hall. He’s going to be _shot_ , let alone go to prison, as he rounds the corner and heads to the stairwell.

 

He had seen the man with the tattoo on his hand, but not before he had spied the gun at his waist. He had asked, innocently enough, if the pool in the hotel was open - and the bellhop at his side had told him that it was open until two.

 

Only it wasn’t because Silver had caught a glimpse of a sign downstairs that had quite clearly told him that the pool was closed today. Then he had seen the badge on the tattooed man’s waist, and he had realized that Hands had been set up in a bust.

 

Something must have given him away, though, for now, they were chasing him through the hotel. He can hear running footsteps from somewhere behind him, muffled by the thick red carpet that lines the hallways. Silver runs down the stairs as fast as he can, the suitcase in his hand jostling when he accidentally clips the side of it on the bottom step.

 

He crashes through the first door he sees - some meeting room - and straightens up, as several dozen pairs of eyes fall on him.

 

“Mr. Little?” he hears, and Silver adjusts his jacket, tries to make it appear like he’s not running from two undercover police officers and carrying a rather large amount of drugs. “Mr. Little!”

 

“That’s me,” Silver says before he knows what he’s doing, and the crowd in front of him parts to show a blond woman, carrying a clipboard and looking rather cross.

 

“Mr. Little?” the woman prompts, holding open a door for him. “You’re late.”

 

“Hello,” Silver says hurriedly, as she stares at him, the door closing behind him. “Ah- yes. That’s me. I’m very sorry- my car broke down.”

 

“Hmm,” she says. “Why should I let you in?”

 

He decides to go for broke. Lawyers aren’t the most morally uptight ones, right? “I really don’t care, as long as you let me hide in here from the cops,” Silver tells her, and her eyebrows shoot up to nearly hit her hairline.

 

“Okay,” she says. “Come with me.”

 

 

•••

 

  
Flint’s in the middle of writing down notes - he’s sketched the lamp in front of him twice, and he’s written _kill me now_ at least ten times - when the door opens again.

 

“Yes, hello, welcome,” Flint says without really looking up, and he hears a cough. Then he glances up, meets wide blue eyes, and his pen stills in his hand.

 

“Oh,” the man says, and Flint’s brow furrows. “James?”

 

“Do I know you?” he asks.

 

“Uh- I don’t think so,” the man says, and he’s sweating like the others, but there’s a rather desperate glint in his eyes that has the hairs on the back of Flint’s neck raising. "Hello." 

 

“How do you know my name?” Flint asks before he can help himself, and the man’s eyes flit back to the door.

 

“Your assistant,” he says. “You know. I did my research. So, you’re a lawyer.”

 

“You’re not wrong,” Flint retorts, wondering if Eleanor is now sending random people off the street, and he chases away the thought that’s crawling around the back of his head. “Your name is?”

 

“Little,” the man says, and Flint narrows his eyes. “John Little.”

 

“Mr. Little,” Flint says, and he stands up from his desk, moving around it. “I might not be as friendly as I should be, but I’ll give you some advice. When you’re about to interview with anyone, it’s generally a good first step to _not lie about your name,_ and especially not to, you guessed it,  _a lawyer._ "

 

“Lying?” the man says, and he pushes his hair back from his face, and something makes Flint faintly remember something, an insistent voice in the back of his mind- but he ruthlessly crushes any thought. “Why would I lie about that?”

 

“Mr. Little,” Flint starts, and the man shifts his weight - but as he does so, his briefcase falls open. Flint glances down at the ground, and he’s struck by the sight of several bags of marijuana that have spilled out, standing out on the plush carpet. 

 

“Um,” the man says, as Flint slowly drags his eyes back up to him. “Those aren’t mine?”

 

 

•••

 

 

“You’re telling me that you knew that they were undercover cops,” Flint repeats, and Silver nods. “By- what? Just looking at them?”

 

“I have a long memory,” Silver says. “Besides, I don’t make it a habit of crashing interviews. Sorry about that, by the way.”

 

“It’s fine, half of those people out there are probably less intelligent than that suitcase you’ve got there,” Flint says, and Silver snorts. “Why did you ask that bellhop about the pool, anyway?”

   
“What sort of dealer would I be if I asked about a pool while carrying a briefcase full of pot?” Silver says, and he sees the corners of Flint’s mouth turn up.

 

“I wish I could hire you,” Flint says, leaning back, eyeing Silver then with something else in his expression. “See- that’s the sort of thinking we need. I’d sign you on the spot right now if I could.”

 

“So hire me,” Silver says, and Flint’s eyebrows raise.

   
“Unless you’re also a Harvard law graduate, then I’m afraid that’s impossible, Mr. Little,” Flint says. “Now if you don’t mind-”

 

“Silver,” Silver replies, and sees Flint look at him again. “My real name is John Silver. And why not?”

 

“It’s part of our firm’s policy,” Flint says. “Elitist, I know, but also, you need to at least be a _lawyer_ -”

 

“Pick up that book,” Silver says, nodding down to the desk. “That’s the BarBri Legal Handbook, right?”

 

“Yes,” Flint says. “What about it?”

 

Silver says, “Read me anything from that. Go on, your pick.”

 

Flint eyes him suspiciously, but he opens the book, looking at Silver once again before clearing his voice and reading, “Civil liability associated with agency is based on several factors, including-”

 

“Including the deviation of the agent from his path, the reasonable inference of agency on behalf of the plaintiff, and the nature of the damages themselves,” Silver finishes, and he sees the surprise dawn on Flint’s face with no small amount of relish. “You were saying?”

 

“All right, then,” Flint says, “You can memorize. But can you analyze?” He motions to his laptop, then, and Silver gets up to look at it. “Pick any topic.”

 

Silver clicks away on the laptop. “How about - stock option backdating.” He glances back up.

 

Flint smirks, and Silver quickly looks back at the screen. “Backdating options is legal, violations arose related to disclosures under RIC section 409-”

 

“Sarbanes-Oxley,” Silver cuts in, jiggling his foot under the table. “You forgot about that.”

 

“Statute of limitations render Sarbanes-Oxley mute after 2007-”

 

“Unless you can find actions to cover up the violation, as established in the Sixth Circuit May 2008,” Silver says. “Come on, I thought this was supposed to test me.”

 

“But you don’t get a computer in a courtroom,” Flint says, and Silver turns around the computer, keeping his eyes on Flint’s face as he shows him the screen, where he was playing Solitaire.

 

Flint’s eyes go from the screen right back to Silver’s face. “Well,” he says, “I’ll be damned.”

 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Silver says, just to see whatever that expression it is on Flint’s face intensify. “Can any of those Harvard boys out there do that?”

 

“Why not go to law school?” Flint asks, and Silver’s foot stills. “Tell me that.”

 

“Because sometimes,” Silver says, and Flint’s gaze is heavy on him, “Life gets in the way of such plans.” He doesn’t move to clarify, but Flint doesn’t press, either.

 

“This job,” Flint says finally, “It’s long hours. Soulless, thankless work. You’ll want to quit-”

 

“I’ll do it,” Silver says.

 

“What if I decide that you’re too much of a liability?” Flint presses next.

 

“Then we part ways, no hard feelings,” Silver says. “God, I definitely can see you in a courtroom now.”

 

Still, Flint looks at him, though, really look at him for such a long time, Silver starts to wonder if he’s made a mistake. Without dragging his eyes away from Silver’s face, then, Flint walks to the door, knocks on it.

 

The blonde woman from before opens it, sticks her head in. “Boss?”

 

“Call Miranda. Tell her we have our new associate,” Flint says, and Silver feels his heart start to pound in his chest. “Mr. Silver - welcome to Barlow, Hamilton & Associates.”

 

•••

 


	2. Chapter 2

Flint had given him instructions before Silver had left the hotel. 

 

 “You start next week.” Flint tells him, his arms crossed as he stares at Silver with a line in his brow like he’s not quite sure why he’s done this - Silver isn’t, either, but when a job like this one just falls into his lap, he’s not going to make a fuss about the details. 

 

“Okay.”

 

After a moment, Flint says, “This will be your approximate salary.” He writes something on a card and slides it over to him. Silver is about to retort on _really, how cliche can you be_ until he sees the neatly written number.

 

“Holy fu- _each year_?” 

 

“That’s the idea, yes,” Flint says dryly. “You’re going to buy yourself some real suits before you start."

 

“All right,” Silver says, eying Flint’s - very nice, obviously expensive - suit. If he lets his gaze linger a little on the close fit on Flint’s shoulders, well, he’s just human, right? “Is that all-"

 

“No more pot,” Flint adds. “Get rid of it all. You’ll be drug tested.” 

 

“You know I’m not some stoner,” Silver says.

 

Flint looks directly at the suitcase, then back at him. 

 

It’s only because Silver reminds himself that this job will, in fact, pay far more than the contents of that case, that he resists chucking it at Flint’s head. Later, as he dumps it all down one of the fancy toilets in the nearby bathroom, he thinks there might be some symbolism in it, watching the bits swirl down the drain as he flushes it. 

 

That, or he’s just wasted _a lot_ of high-quality pot, and his inner voice is screaming at him. Again, he’s not going to look too hard at the details. 

 

 

•••

 

“I’m sorry,” Muldoon says, gaping at him, “ _What_ did you do?” 

 

“I got a job at a law firm,” Silver tells him. “I’m pretending to be a lawyer.” 

 

“And you can _do_ that?” Silver gives him a look. “Yeah, yeah, I forgot, super memory and all that.”

 

“Anyways, it’ll be just as bad for my new boss if we get discovered,” Silver says. “He’s just as invested in this as I am.” 

 

They’re eating pizza on the couch, only Muldoon’s stopped chewing. “But you could get into trouble for that if you get found out.” 

 

“Generally, with most cons, you get into trouble if you get discovered,” Silver says, opening the cardboard box and fishing for another slice. “That’s why you avoid that possibility.” 

 

“But I mean, _serious_ trouble,” Muldoon emphasizes. “Are you sure-“

 

“I’ve already taken the job,” Silver says, and he leans in. “Don’t tell Hands, all right? I’m still pissed at him for the situation.”

 

“How are you going to pay him back?” Muldoon whispers right back. “You just said you got rid of all his stuff.” 

 

Silver grins with all his teeth, licking a bit of sauce off his finger. “I can pay him back because I, Muldoon, just got a _very_ generous signing bonus.”

 

 

•••

 

 

The next week, Silver shows up at the offices of Barlow, Hamilton & Associates. He stares up at the gilded sign for a long moment, but then someone jostles him from behind. Silver pushes through the revolving doors, trying to figure out where exactly to go. 

 

As soon as he's stepping into the lobby, though, Flint rounds the corner. He looks at him up and down. “What the fuck are you wearing?” Flint demands, stopping right in front of him despite the people trying to get by. 

 

“A suit,” Silver replies. “I would’ve thought that would have been obvious.” 

 

“How much did you spend on that?”

 

“I spent five hundred dollars,” Silver says, catching up with him as Flint starts to walk faster through the lobby. Flint quickly flashes his ID card, and the guard barely looks at Silver's before letting them through to the elevators. 

 

“On how many?” Flint asks, and that line in his brow is back. 

 

“Five,” Silver says, and Flint pinches his nose. “What? Not all of us are made of money."

 

“I wasn’t, and I still know that a hundred dollar suit isn’t going to get you anywhere here,” Flint says, exhaling. “We’ll go to my tailor on Saturday."

 

“I have plans _-_ ” Silver starts, as the doors open, but Flint cuts him off.

 

“Not anymore. Appearances are everything here,” he says. “Clients expect a certain look, and we need to deliver on it, even new junior associates.” He eyes Silver again. “You need a haircut.”

 

“I’ll take care of it,” Silver grumbles, as they step out. 

 

On the floor, there are a large number of desks with people running between them. On one side of the room, there are several offices - the two largest, he assumes belong to Barlow and Hamilton. 

 

The one on the end, though, has _James E.M. Flint_ embossed on the door. Silver reads it, mouthing the middle initials silently as Flint approaches his secretary.

 

“Silver, this is Eleanor,” Flint asks, as the blond woman, that Silver recalls from last week, promptly hands him a stack of papers. “Eleanor, my new associate.” 

 

“Ah, Mr. Little,” Eleanor says. “I take it your interview went well."

 

“Ah, about that,” Silver says to her, as Flint flips through the papers. “Apologies for any - past deception.” 

 

“No matter, I’ve found better things to worry about,” Eleanor tells him. “Flint, Miranda told me to warn you. Hallandale’s coming in, and he’s furious over the clause.” 

 

“Send me a reminder at ten, after I get off that call with Hal,” Flint says. “Silver, what are you staring at?” 

 

“E,” Silver says contemplatively, and Eleanor snorts from behind her desk. “I know the M must be for McGraw.“ 

 

“How do you know my middle name?"

 

“I saw it on your ID downstairs. But what’s E stand for?” 

 

“None of your business,” Flint tells him. “We’ll start as soon as Madi shows you to your desk.” 

 

“Go take your call,” Eleanor says, and Flint goes into his office then. “Silver, this is Madi Scott.”

 

Silver turns, and he’s faced with quite possibly the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen in his life. 

 

“Oh,” Silver says eloquently, staring into dark eyes. “Hello.” 

 

“She’s our top paralegal,” Eleanor says, as Silver blinks again. “If you piss her off, I’ll kill you, then Flint will kill you, and I’ll bring you back to life so that she can get one in too.” 

 

“Hmm,” Madi says, as Eleanor leaves them to go back to her desk. She holds out her hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Silver.”

 

He shakes her hand. “Ms. Scott.”

 

“I’ll be giving your orientation,” Madi tells him crisply. Silver catches a clipboard with paper and pen against his chest. “Take notes, I won’t repeat myself. “

 

 

•••

 

 

Hallandale is red-faced when he rises from his seat. "What sort oflawyer are you, that you go back on your word like this?" 

 

Flint steeples his fingers on the desk. "Mr. Hallandale, please sit down. I did not go back on my word - "

 

"You said you'd get me that amount! You'd said you get me what I wanted - "  


_"_ Mr. Hallandale, the terms on the contract was quite clear. That clause was put in so this never would happen or be up for discussion. I'm not going to go back into court on some fool's errand just so that you can humiliate Naft for whatever personal vendetta-"

 

"I should've had Hamilton to work with instead," Hallandale bites. "He might be weak, but at least he doesn't stab me in the back!"

 

Something inside him tightens. "Now you've just insulted me, and insulted my firm," Flint says, and he rises until he's nose to nose with Hallandale. "You have two options, Mr. Hallandale. Either you take me to court, try your  _best_ to get whatever shitty judge you can rustle up in the next few hours to try to overturn the ruling, just so that you can extort whatever pennies Naft has left instead of signing the damn deal."

 

Hallandale is shaking ever so slightly, so Flint continues, viciously quiet, "I'd say the ball's in your court, but the truth is, your balls are in my  _pansy_ fist because I won't ever let that happen. I've done exactly what you wanted, Mr. Hallandale, and I'd thank you to remember that."

 

"And the other option?" Hallandale grits out, and a part of Flint relishes in the way that he's now turning white from rage. "Well?"

 

"You get the fuck out of my office right now," Flint tells him. He watches as Hallandale storms out, all but slamming his door on the way out. 

 

•••

 

 

"You’ve seen most of the office now, so I’ll let you know some of your responsibilities,” Madi informs him. “The chain of command is that you answer to Flint, but also to Thomas, who oversees the associates as well as being partner.” 

 

"Thomas?"

 

“Thomas Hamilton. The senior associates are Hal Gates, Anne Bonny, Jack Rackham, and Billy Bones. Respect them, and they’ll help you," Madi tells him as they walk through the desks. "Any questions?" 

 

“What do you think about him, then?” Silver asks. “Flint? And why does everyone call him Flint?” 

 

“Because no one calls him James except for Miranda and Thomas,” Madi says like it’s obvious. “He’s the best closer in this city, and you should be glad for the opportunity to work under him, however challenging he is.” 

 

“So I’ve heard,” Silver says, shifting to the side as a woman brushes by, sending a glare in his direction as she does so. “And what about Thomas?” 

 

“Thomas is very good at his job, and absolutely not all he first appears to be,” Madi says cryptically. “You’ll meet him by the end of the day.” 

 

“And what about Miranda?”

 

She shoots him an incredulous look. “She's the managing partner, and she’s by far the most important person in the building. You just stay out of her way, and it will be best for you.” Madi stops at the cubicle. “This is where you’ll work."

 

Before he can help it, Silver says, “You’re stunning, did you know that?”

 

“Good,” Madi says matter-of-factly. "You hit on me. Now we can get it out of the way that I'm not interested."

 

“I wasn't-“

 

“Trust me,” Madi says, crossing her arms. “You think that just because I’m just a paralegal, I will somehow be blown away by your shiny Harvard degree. Let me assure you, I won’t.”

 

 Silver falls a little in love. “Okay,” he says. “Sorry I was hitting on you.”

 

“This desk is where you’ll live, breathe, and likely die,” Madi says, then frowns. “You haven’t taken any notes."

 

"Partner's offices are on the north side of the bullpen,” Silver repeats. “Floor above us is research, below is security. All work gets billed, even if it's finding out an address. I answer to Flint and Thomas, and you think that I should be in awe of Flint and be terrified of Thomas, and just keep out of Miranda’s brilliant plans for us all."

 

Madi’s still staring at him as he adds, “And you- you’ve been here for six years, and just because I outrank you doesn’t mean I have the authority to command your services because you’ve been here five years and are probably far more intelligent than anyone else here. But you know that, and you think you’re too smart to be a paralegal. Did I forget anything?"

 

“You forgot that nobody likes a showoff, Mr. Silver,” Madi tells him crisply, and she turns on her heel to walk away.

 

Silver stares after her for a long moment. “Wait, when do I meet with Flint?” he calls after her, but she doesn’t respond. 

 

 

•••

 

Flint doesn’t come to him, but he has Eleanor summon Silver not long after his tour with Madi. 

 

“How long have you been working for Flint?” Silver asks her, and Eleanor looks up at her phone as they walk over to Flint’s office. 

 

“For many years,” she says, eyes focused on him with an unnerving intensity. “I manage his life.” 

 

“Okay,” Silver says after a moment, as she looks back down. “Do you know what E stands for, then?” 

 

“I do,” Eleanor says, but instead of clarifying, she points to the door. “He’s waiting for you. Try not to test his temper this morning.” 

 

Silver doesn’t know if he should knock on the door, so he opens it. Inside, Flint is seated at his desk - and Silver is momentarily blindsided by his rolled-up sleeves, which reveal far more freckles than he would have expected, while his tie is still immaculately knotted.

 

Flint barely glances up even as Silver ogles. “Sit down, we have a lot of work to do,” he says, and Silver finally gets it together takes a seat opposite for him, watching as Flint’s eyes flit across a page, quickly reading something. “This morning, one of our more lucrative clients left us.” 

 

“Left,” Silver repeats. “The meeting went that poorly?"

 

“We’ll be working overtime to reaffirm the firm’s commitment to our clients,” Flint says like Silver didn’t say anything. “First of all, by negotiating a new merger deal for Teach’s company.”

 

“Teach?”

 

“Edward Teach. He owns the largest technology firm on this coast - Jesus Christ, am I going to have to explain everything to you?” Flint says, exasperated. “I thought you were smart.” 

 

“I am smart,” Silver says pointedly. “So what are we going to do?” He reaches for the papers, but Flint swats his hand away.

 

“That’s what _I’ll_ be working on,” Flint tells him. “You, on the other hand, will be doing this pro-bono case I’ve been assigned."

 

“Hang on, why am I doing it?” Silver asks. “I could help you-“

 

“You,” Flint repeats, as if Silver is particularly slow, “Will be doing. The pro bono work. Is that understood?” 

 

Silver sighs. “Fine,” he says. “What am I doing?” 

 

“You’ll be meeting with the client,“ Flint says, glancing down at the paper before handing it to Silver. “Sexual harassment case. Interview her, and come back here with an update. Don’t screw this up.” 

 

 

•••

 

 

There’s a knock on the open door, and then Miranda steps into his office. She closes the door behind her. 

 

“Hello,” Thomas says, looking up. “Oh, did I forget about a meeting?” 

 

“No, I’m here about the Hallandale situation,” Miranda says, and there’s a certain tightness to her mouth that Thomas recognizes.

 

“The Hallandale situation,” Thomas repeats. “I’ve been busy with these briefs all morning. What happened?”

 

“Did you know that James talked to him?” Miranda asks, crossing her arms. “Or that it was a direct result of this meeting this morning that caused Hallandale to pull his business?” 

 

“He pulled his business- why on earth would he do that?” 

 

“Funny you should ask,” Miranda says. "James humiliated him during a meeting last week when Hallandale tried to change the terms of the agreement. Only a judge ruled this morning that we were, in fact, in the wrong for the contract - an oversight that will be dealt with, but Hallandale could no longer reopen the old wound he's had with Naft. When Hallandale came in this morning, he met with James." She stops, breathes in. "You can see how this became a problem."

 

“To be fair,“ Thomas hedges, “Hallandale isa misogynistic homophobe.” 

 

“Thomas.” 

 

“I had suspected that James would say something rather - cutting, to him, perhaps, if pushed - “ 

 

“It was more than cutting, and I wish I could say things like that, but by ending our contract in a moment of rash impulse- if I wanted to get back at Hallandale, I would’ve had Anne call him-"

 

“-I’m just not going to miss his presence lurking around this office,” Thomas finishes. “Surely we can’t make the numbers work?” 

 

“Thomas,” Miranda says, and she crosses her arms. “I’m serious. We can’t be losing more clients like Hallandale."

 

“What, you would like him to stay on? For me to grovel?” 

 

“I would like his money to stay on, yes,” Miranda fires back, and then she visibly reigns herself in. “Please. Talk to him.” 

 

“I’m not sure what you want me to do,” Thomas says, and he runs a hand over his face. “Hallandale’s not going to listen to me if you couldn’t convince him.” 

 

“That’s not who I meant. I know you’re closer to James,” Miranda starts, and under the desk, Thomas’s fingers twitch, “Could you _perhaps_ bring up to him why he can’t exactly be defending our honor at every moment? I did, but I think he needs you to hammer it into his thick skull.” 

 

“Okay,” Thomas says, standing up. “I’ll go talk to him.”

 

“Well, not _now_ ,” Miranda says. “I assigned him a hefty pro bono case to do instead today. If you come in there with those big eyes, it won’t feel as much of a punishment to him. You do have that gift.” 

 

“Right,” Thomas says. "I am - sorry that this causes you undue stress.” 

 

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” Miranda says, and she gives him a small smile. “Just talk to him."

 

 

•••

 

 

Silver swears as he stomps back into the lobby, but now tracking mud in. He gets to the elevator, where there’s already a man waiting on the ground floor, holding two cups of coffee.

 

“Do all of you run on that liquid garbage?” Silver asks, because he was just _hit_ by a _fucking_ car on his bike, and while unharmed, his new shoes are covered in mud and this man is just standing there sipping way too much coffee at three in the afternoon. 

 

“Well, I officially can’t speak for all, but I must say I do work much better with some mid-afternoon caffeine,” the man says, and he has the audacity to _smile_ at Silver as he holds up the two cups. 

 

“Well, I need some, as disgusting as it is,” Silver declares. “I don’t suppose you know if it’s some taboo to use that sparkling clean coffee pot in the break room?” 

 

“I’m afraid I don’t,” the man says. “You’re an associate?” 

 

“John Silver,” he says, turning to stare at the panel. “God, do you work for Flint too?”

 

“Well,” the man starts, but then Silver goes on. 

 

“He’s riding me on this, this _case_ but then doesn’t answer his phone when I have a question. So I head back, nearly getting killed in the process, for something that will take about thirty seconds-“

 

“That sounds rough,” the man says sympathetically. 

 

Silver looks at him. “Hold on, who did you say you were-“ 

 

But before he can finish his thought, the elevator doors open, and Flint is already on the other side.

 

“Silver, where is the-” Flint says, but then his eyes slide to the side. “Thomas.” 

 

“Good day, James. I just met your new associate,” Thomas says, stepping out and handing Flint a cup. “He seems rather passionate.”

 

“He’s a work in progress,” Flint says, but Silver doesn’t focus on that. 

 

“You certainly don’t work for Flint,” Silver says slowly, he ignores the way that Flint’s eyebrows shoot up, as he turns in horror to Thomas Hamilton. “You’re Thomas Hamilton.” 

 

“Well, I would’ve thought he would be faster,” Thomas says. “Has he met Miranda?” 

 

“He hasn't,” Flint says. “I’m trying to train him, not eviscerate him.” 

 

Silver says, “Please don’t fire me.”

 

“Now, why would I do that?” Thomas says. “James, I need to have a word with you.”

 

“I’ll meet you in your office in a minute,” Flint says, and Thomas nods. 

 

"Keep up the good work,” he says then to Silver, and he goes off to his office, a distinct bounce in his step.

 

Silver turns to look at Flint, whose eyes flick back to Silver as soon as he can feel Silver’s gaze. “What did you say to him?”

 

“Oh, I told him how I never went to Harvard or any law school for that matter,” Silver says. 

 

“Would you _keep your voice down_?” Flint hisses. “Tell me you’re on your way to resolving this case."

 

“Well, I talked to the woman. It’s the classic story of a creepy vengeful boss on a power trip,” Silver says. “If we can subpoena the employee records, I figured we can find another person that it happened to.” He waves the piece of paper at him.  

 

“A decent suggestion,” Flint says, eyeing the paper. “But the company’s going to try to overwhelm you with information. It’s going to be too much for you to get through.” 

 

“Luckily for you, I’m a fast reader.” Silver pauses. “There’s just one thing.”

 

“Oh,  _do_ enlighten me _."_

 

“How do you file a subpoena?” Silver asks, and Flint just looks at him before walking away. “Hey - that’s a valid question, I think - hey, Eleanor, could you help?” 

 

“Oh, let me check my schedule,” Eleanor says as she passes him by, and she keeps on walking. Silver holds the paper, feeling rather dismayed. 

 

 

•••

 

Flint shuts the door behind him. “Is everything all right?” he asks after a moment, resisting the urge to fiddle with a cufflink. 

 

“What?” Thomas asks, looking up at him. “Oh, darling, don’t worry. I’m supposed to chastise you on the Hallandale business.” 

 

Flint makes sure the door is shut. “I wasn’t _worried_ ,” he says, and it’s only because there’s a wall of glass that faces all the desks outside that he doesn’t go over to kiss the small smile on Thomas’s face. 

 

“Whatever you say,” Thomas says. “Miranda did tell me that you had some harsh words with him, though.”

 

“I’m not going to apologize for what he said to provoke them,” Flint says instantly, and Thomas raises an eyebrow. “Perhaps - I should have diffused the situation.” 

 

“That’s all I needed to hear,” Thomas says. and then he grimaces. “I wish I could have said whatever it was you did, though.”

 

Flint huffs out a laugh, so Thomas continues, “Now, how is it working out with that new associate of yours?” 

 

“Actually,” Flint says, and he swallows, preparing to lift the weight that’s been sitting in his stomach for not telling Thomas until now, only it’s not going to feel any better to relieve himself of this - “There’s something I need to tell you.” 

 

 

 

•••

 

 

Silver can’t see into Thomas’s office from this angle, but from the people who are quickly gathering their belongings and moving away from whatever it is they are seeing - he strains to listen, but the office seems to be soundproof. 

 

“Stop trying to eavesdrop,” Eleanor says from her desk, and Silver turns to look at her. 

 

“You’re not curious?” 

 

“I,” Eleanor says, clicking her pen to enunciate her words, “Have some self-respect. You should go back to your desk before he finds out you’re not working.” 

 

“Suit yourself,” Silver says, and he turns just as the door to Thomas’s office opens. Flint doesn’t - slam the door, but he closes it with a twisted expression that quickly turns into annoyance, anger even when he sees Silver. 

 

“Shouldn’t you be working?” Flint snaps at him, and Silver raises his hands, ignoring the look Eleanor sends him. 

 

“I went through Teach’s contract,” Silver says quickly. “I think there’s something that he might want to adjust- er, you might want to fix-"

 

“I didn’t _ask_ you to do that,” Flint says then, low and angry, and Silver is starting to wonder if Flint would get away with throwing him out of the tall glass windows from his office. 

 

“Boss, he filled out the subpoena for the employee records,” Eleanor says, and Silver is going to find whatever sort of high-class wine she likes and buy her an entire case for the interruption, “Shall I send it out?"

 

“Send me a copy before you do so,” Flint tells her, then looks at Silver. “You’re going to go back to meet with this woman again, I don’t want any surprises if this is going to go to court.”  

 

But before Silver can beat a hasty retreat, there’s a voice from behind him. “James,” Miranda says, and they both slowly turn to face her. “Is this your new associate?” 

 

“Silver, this is Miranda Hamilton,” Flint says after a beat, the irritation leaving his face just as quickly. “Miranda, this is John Silver.”

 

She shakes his hand. “Welcome to the firm,” Miranda says. “I do hope you’re settling in today.” 

 

“I am glad to be here, Ms. Barlow,” Silver says, and he resists the urge to straighten his jacket when she looks at him. 

 

“How’s the pro-bono work coming along, James?” Miranda asks as she turns to him, and Silver does not even glance towards Flint as she switches her focus to him. 

 

“Excellent,” Flint says, straightening up under her gaze, and even his posture aligns itself like he’s some military man. “Just getting some details sorted right now.” 

 

"That makes me happy,” Miranda says, “Because if I were to find out that you weren't putting in your full effort, I'd be very upset." 

 

“It’ll be done soon,” Flint says, and Miranda walks away after nodding to them. 

 

“She’s going to find out,” Silver says in a low voice, as Flint turns back to him. “She’s going to find out that I”m a sham- let _alone_ that you’ve saddled me with your work -“

 

“She won’t, because you’re not _that_ stupid, and she's just upset with me right now,” Flint tells him. “If Miranda has no reason to disbelieve you, she won’t question it.” His gaze shifts as though he's lost in thought. 

 

“You don’t like lying to her,” Silver realizes, and Flint’s eyes snap back to his. "And I bet you don't like lying to Thomas, either." Flint doesn't respond right away, so Silver probes even more, “So why do it?"

 

 “Where are you on those files?” Flint interrupts. “Well?"

 

“The ones you just emailed me about?” Silver glances over at Eleanor, but she’s fixed on her computer screen. “I only just got-“

 

"I know you must already be on your way to producing those because there’s no way that you would be standing around here and gossiping when there is real work to do,” Flint tells him sharply. “Get to work, this isn’t daycare," and he leaves before Silver can say anything.

 

“Is it just me, or is he now in an especially bad mood?” Silver asks after a moment.

 

“You’re the bright new star in this place, you tell me,” Eleanor says rather blandly, and Silver hurries back to his desk rather than further antagonize Flint. 

 

 

•••

 

 

Madi sees the new associate - John Silver - packing his bag at six-thirty. She takes a quick detour to his desk. 

 

“If you don’t stay until at least nine tonight, you’re not going to last a month here,” she tells him as she goes by. His eyes meet hers, and she holds it, raises an eyebrow until he slowly drops his bag back onto the desk.

 

“Thank you for your help, earlier, with the subpoena,” Silver says, and Madi gives him a nod.

 

“It’s what I’m here for,” she says, and he gives her a surprisingly warm smile before she leaves him again. 

 

Madi’s not sure what exactly it is that Flint sees in him. Well - she gets that he’s quick, intelligent, and probably has never faced any real consequences in his life, but then again, that’s most of the people at this firm. 

 

Madi steps into the office, knocking on the door frame to announce her arrival. “I have the research you requested,” she says.

 

Miranda turns from where she was facing the window. The dark green of her dress is illuminated by the yellow light outside, casting it into a soft shade of olive that reminds Madi of a summer forest. 

 

“Thank you, Madi,” Miranda says, clasping her hands in front of her as Madi sets the file on her desk. “This precedent will no doubt soothe some of Teach’s worries.” 

 

“I would expect so,” Madi says agreeably, and watches as Miranda’s eyes slide to a point beyond her.  Something in her eyes makes her pause, as Miranda looks far more distant - not deep in thought, but just as though she's far away. “If you don’t mind me asking so,” Madi finds herself saying before she realizes it,”Are you all right?” 

 

Miranda’s eyes fix on her again. “Just a long day,” she says with an exhale, and she gives a wry smile. “Well, that plus the additional stress that it takes to keep this place going, the newest challenge I must now surmount, makes for a far longer day than even what I’m used to.” 

 

“I heard about Hallandale,” Madi says, then adds, "“Flint seemed as though he regretted his earlier outburst," because now Miranda’s looking directly at her, and she’s not quite sure what else to do when commiserating with who is technically the boss of her boss. “That must be - difficult.” 

 

“It is,” Miranda says. “Thank you for asking.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Madi replies. She makes to leave but then she pauses at the door. “May I ask you something?”

 

“You may." Miranda uncrosses her arms. 

 

“Why do you do this?” Madi asks, and Miranda blinks at her, looking caught off guard. “For all the stress, the work, the long hours - what made you decide to do it?” 

 

“I must admit,” Miranda says, her face changing, “I’m not sure anyone has ever asked me that question, or at least not in a very long time.” 

 

“I”m sorry,” Madi says, backtracking. “I didn’t mean to pry."

 

“No, it’s fine,” the other woman says, and she looks far more considering as she takes a few steps closer. From here, Madi can see how Miranda’s eyes are sharp even as she thinks, how her mouth presses together just a little before she opens her mouth. 

 

“I do it for the respect, I suppose,” Miranda says after a few moments. "This puts me at a table that I otherwise would never be allowed at, let alone have a seat.” She looks at Madi again. “It’s what I do to be heard. I suppose I could ask you the same thing."

 

“I suppose you could,” Madi says after a short moment, and she sees something- amusement, perhaps - flicker over Miranda’s face. 

 

“I have heard James speak very highly of your work ethic many times, but I must admit, it is refreshing to finally speak with you,” Miranda says then, and it’s Madi’s turn to blink. "You seem every bit the woman he has described." 

 

“Thank you,” she says. “I was unaware Flint paid such close attention to his paralegals.” 

 

“He pays attention to the talent,” Miranda says, and she’s watching Madi with a sort of unnerving intensity. “Thank you again."

 

“Have a good evening,” Madi says in return, and when she chances a glance back as she exits, Miranda’s eyes are still on her as she goes through the doorway.

 

Eleanor raises an eyebrow when Madi walks by her. “You all right?” 

 

“Just fine,” Madi says, but then she pauses. “Do you want to go for drinks tonight?”

 

“I’d love to,” Eleanor says. “We can complain about Flint’s new associate. Although I have to say, he seems just your type."

 

Madi scoffs. “Absolutely not,” she says. “I don’t date arrogant lawyers.” 

 

“That mouthiness doesn’t do something for you? The blue, blue eyes?” 

 

“I don’t date anyone at work,” Madi says firmly. Before Eleanor can say anything, she looks back at her. “Does eight work?" 

 

 

•••

 

 

Flint knocks on Thomas’s apartment door. He’s not sure if he’s forgiven yet, but he couldn’t go to sleep tonight without at least trying, not when he still has Thomas’s disappointed expression burned onto the back of his eyelids. 

 

Thomas answers the door, dressed down already. “I expected you,” Thomas says, crossing his arms. He’s wearing a worn Harvard shirt, one that might actually be Flint’s, by the short fit of it - but Flint can’t let himself be distracted now. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Flint says, and after a moment, Thomas step to the side to let him into the apartment. “I shouldn’t have done it.” 

 

“I don’t suppose you’ve come to your senses and let him go,” Thomas says, and Flint slowly shakes his head. Thomas closes the door wordlessly. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, and Thomas sighs before turning again. 

 

“What were you thinking, James?” Thomas asks, and there’s a line on his forehead. "He’s not a Harvard graduate, he’s not even a lawyer, for God’s sake- _“_

 

_“_ I wasn’t thinking,” Flint says, and Thomas closes his mouth but still glares at him. “I’m not saying that I made a great decision, but Thomas - he’s something else. And I didn’t want to lie to you.” 

 

“You’re something else,” Thomas points out, “And I mean that in a variety of ways, right now. But that doesn’t mean that you didn’t have to go through school, we all have to-“ 

 

“Aren’t we always discussing what if we got rid of the Harvard requirement?” Flint argues. “And you always argue the benefits of removing that limitation!"

 

“But we’re not just talking about the specification, it’s that he has no legal right to be representing anyone,” Thomas says, and Flint looks to the side. “Christ. Has he even gone to college?” 

 

“I think at one point, yes,” Flint tries, and Thomas looks incredulous. “Thomas, it’s unorthodox but I think it’s the right thing to do. He’ going to be an excellent asset to the firm.” 

 

“And what, you were just going to hope that no one finds out?”

 

“No one will find out,” Flint says. “The integrity of the firm will remain- “

 

“Damn the firm!” Thomas exclaims then, taking a step closer to him. “And if you think that’s my real problem with this, you can just get out right now. James, this is also _your job_ we’re talking about - were someone to find out-“

 

“No one would find out-“

 

“You’d be disbarred,” Thomas finishes, and his expression is pained. “Every case you’d worked would be torn apart, and I can’t protect you from that.”

 

“No one asked you to protect me,” Flint snaps, and Thomas turns around quickly like Flint had struck him. “I made the decision, and I’ll deal with the consequences myself.”

 

“You think I’d just let you go?” Thomas’s voice is strange. “You think that if it goes badly, I’ll just let you take the blame?” 

 

“You will,” Flint says firmly, and he knows they’re no longer talking about Silver anymore. “I can’t let you give up your career too. Not after everything you’ve gone through.” 

 

There’s a few moments of silence, Flint breathing heavily as he watches Thomas’s back. 

 

“If I asked you to fire him,” Thomas says slowly, and Flint tries to read into the tightness of his shoulders, the tenseness of his neck, “Would you?"

 

“Yes,” Flint says after a long moment. “Yes, I would. Is that- is that what you're asking me to do?" 

 

Thomas stays silent, so Flint risks it, and he reaches out slowly to touch the back of Thomas’s elbow. “It will get better,” he says, even softer. “It has to be." 

 

“Oh, damn you,” Thomas says suddenly, and he turns back, his hand going to Flint’s arm. “I don’t like it - I _really_ don’t like it - but if you see something in him, I’ll believe you.”

 

The relief that washes over him is nearly instant.  “Thank you,” Flint says, stepping closer, his hand fitting over Thomas's elbow “Thomas - I'm sorry." 

 

“Yes, I know,” Thomas says, and he still looked annoyed, but he lets Flint come close. “I presume you haven’t told Miranda.”

 

The guilt returns, nearly in full force. “No, I haven’t,” Flint says, looking down. “God - I wish I could." 

 

“It’s protecting her,” Thomas says, and they both choose not to voice out loud that they both know that’s a terrible excuse, as Thomas's hand comes to his hip.

 

“Can I stay tonight?” Flint asks. “You can still be mad at me, just - can I?"

 

“I sleep better with you here,” Thomas admits, and lets go of him to take Flint’s hand, leading him into the bedroom. They’ll have to talk about it more, but at least for now, Thomas lets him curl on his chest, and Flint falls asleep to Thomas’s hand in his hair. 

 

•••

 


End file.
